Oh My Achin' Ash

This is a sad tale of woe,
An ode to a local tree I know.

When we moved in to our brand-spanking-new house in the mid-1990's, we were given a twig of a sprig of a green ash tree. I was taller than the green ash gift and I can't say that it looked very hearty. The tree was a gift from two of the nicest, most thoughtful people on the planet: my cousins.  It had popped up in their backyard and thus they thought we might want it for our new house. I was skeptical--after all, it was barely a stick-wide--but thought it the perfect gift; after all, we had zero landscaping and nary a tree to be found. Who can't use a free tree when there is not a stick of shade on the property? We planted the tree on the side of the house and hoped for the best.

I have GOT to find a photo of the tree during its first year in our yard.  I guarantee you'll laugh.

I love green ash trees.  I can spot them anywhere.  I particularly like our personal green ash tree...of course I love ours because of what it represents; but, I love them in general.  They have this awesome shape, interesting bark, quick growth. I love them because they seem to lose their leaves in the Fall in one big CRASH to the ground--I swear all the leaves fall off on the same day. They are the last to get their leaves in the spring and always keep you wondering if they are still even alive long after the winter has moved along. There is a beautiful line of them along Lake Michigan on the Summerfest grounds.  It's a wonderful thing to sit on the rocks and look up at the ash trees.

Fast forward seventeen or so years from that first new-home summer and you'll find our little twig has grown into one big, magnificent green ash tree. It's so huge we can barely believe it. The mighty ash keeps the south side of the house shaded nicely in the summer, makes the perfect "sit under a tree" place to sit with the dogs, serves as home for several bird families.  The thing is so tall that this year we had to have large branches taken off (by professionals) because the limbs were resting on the roof and several branches were scrape-scrape-scraping along the siding.

Our tree has served as the perfect place to sit with the gaybors on a hot summer night.  Bitty, Brown Dog, Freckles, Lucy, the wife, the gaybors and yours truly would gather around in "the park" between our two houses and sit under the tree, wait for the cool summer breeze to bring us relief. (Damn those neighbors for moving!) I can envision us plopped down under the tree--dog beds, lawn chairs, bugs, bug spray, little bowls of water, lots of early evening laughter.    Here's a candid photo of three of the four dogs (as usual, Lucy is nowhere to be found because there are other dogs involved--Freckles is looking at her, wondering what the hell is wrong with her) sitting under the tree on a hot summer day.  Notice that no one is using the dog beds.  Ah well, at least they were there for the taking....

Now, you may be wondering why I'm sounding all maudlin about a tree that is just fine and is still growing leaps and bounds in our yard.  I am sad because I know what is coming.

I know what is coming and I can't find one blessed person to give me even one one-billionth shred of hope.  


Thanks for nothing, tree-huggers.


The most-dreaded green ash bore is creeping closer and closer.  It's in our state. It's in neighboring towns. It's in our town. An infestation of these shiny green bugs kills the tree in one to three years......and, it kills all ash trees in its path.  No matter what money you put into saving the tree, the tree (at least at this time in history) gets consumed and dies. The experts say all the green ash trees will be dead in five to seven years.

All of them.


As for our ash, I don't see any signs of infestation, but I'm no arborist.  The tree looks healthy, even in this drought.  There are no borer marks, nothing looks dead and we haven't had an influx of woodpeckers.  I'm going with it.  I am sticking to my belief that the tree has not been infested and that it has many wonderful years of tree-dom left in it.

Here is a photo of me hugging and kissing the tree.  I'm hanging on for dear life.  The last thing I want to do is cut this tree down.  It doesn't look as majestic in this photo as it does in real life. I think it's the angle of the photo or something.  Trust me when I say it is majestic.


We already lost one tree to bugs this year--those damn Japanese Beetles OF WHICH I HATE--killed our blossoming cherry tree.  That kinda sucked.  (What IS it with shiny green bugs?) I hated to have it chopped down but it was pretty dead and so I didn't argue.  It was a beautiful tree but it wasn't huge and it wasn't tied to such fond memories....in other words, it's not like I had to have the green ash chopped down.

I've heard from several sources that we should cut the green ash tree down NOW and not wait for it to get infested (assuming it is not already infested). Reasons vary--from "cutting down the tree before it even gets bigger will save you money" to "you'll stop the spread of the borer" to whatever--but, it all ends up with the same last line: "your tree is going to get infested and die."

There is no "if."  It is always "when" when talking to people, reading literature, studying data.

I suppose that's not a very positive attitude to embrace.  So, I am not going to embrace that attitude.


I surround the tree with a little bubble of love and light and tell it to be strong.  I tell it to fight back and not let the shiny green bug in.  I tell it it is loved and thank it for all it gives to us. I envision the universe sparing our tree because why not? Anything is possible.

 I plan on hugging and kissing my tree quite often this summer, so if you drive by and see me kissing the tree, you'll know why.  You are welcomed to stop by and hug this tree, too.  Maybe take a photo with it, maybe say a few kind words.  Feel free to sit under it and enjoy a cool summer evening with us and the dogs. Catch a firefly, listen to a bird or two, slap a mosquito.  Take a moment and feel the love.


Piss on you, green ash borer.  Me and this tree are in no hurry to meet you.